[QCrit] KASURA: A TALE OF SURVIVAL, Adult Fantasy, 118k words, 5th Attempt (plus first 300)

My luck in the querying trenches these past few months has been nonexistent, so I'm contemplating a revision of my query letter (see my last attempt here). The whole process has been frustrating (big surprise, I know) in part because I can't tell what element of my query package isn't landing: the letter, the actual manuscript itself, my choice in agents, my synopsis, or all of the above. In short, I still don't know if I'm any good.

I've tried to be a little more specific in my blurb about certain in-universe elements, though I'm worried that this has bloated the wordcount somewhat (303, vs. ~267 in my last version). I've tried to avoid awkward phrasing, but I'm still worried that it doesn't quite work. Should I be specific in explaining what "wordkeeping" is in my setting? I've been using the more generic "magic" in previous attempts, but I thought it sounded too flat (in part because wordkeeping is virtually never referred to as "magic" in the novel). Similarly, "wordkeeping" is not capitalized but "the Word" is, reflecting how these terms appear in the novel, but I don't know if it's wise to organize them in the query in this way.

Of course, the more likely problem is that I'm getting hung up on small details while ignoring some sort of deeper, more fundamental problem. It wouldn't be the first time in my life.

This sub has already been so instructive for me, and I was hoping to get some renewed perspective. A sincere thanks to everyone who reads or comments. You guys give me hope.

Dear [AGENT],

[Personalization]

KASURA: A TALE OF SURVIVAL is a 118,000-word fantasy novel concerning a trio of nihilistic misanthropes in search of purpose, navigating both a brutal desert world and their own personal failings. It will appeal to readers of desert fantasy such as C.L. Clark's The Unbroken and stories with the grim atmosphere of Hannah Kaner's Godkiller.

All his life, Gera has known only misery. A deformed hunchback altered to be unable to speak any falsehood, he craves peace, far from the subterranean prison-city where he is enslaved. His fortunes change when Ayyad, a young, newly-arrived prisoner, reveals that he is a wordkeeper, capable of surrendering his physical and mental well-being in exchange for words of supernatural power. Gera conspires with Vn’ab, a remorseless imprisoned noblewoman with unparalleled fighting skills, to use Ayyad to mount a daring escape. Though Ayyad’s latest use of the Word erases the memory of his identity, the three join forces and flee the prison-city, achieving freedom.

Yet the world above is just as hostile as the one below. From masked armies traversing the endless salt flats to the thirsting desolation of the badlands, the trio careens from peril to peril in search of a safe haven. Above all else, they are their own worst enemies. Ayyad, desperate to reclaim his identity, still frequently surrenders what little remains of his memories to the Word. Vn’ab struggles with complicated feelings about her exile from her homeland, particularly her religious authority declaring that she no longer has a soul. Gera is damned by his own cynical tongue, ever-truthful even when it compromises his own safety.

Despite their flaws, they must rely on each other to achieve their last desperate scheme: a journey to a potentially safe settlement, taking them through a continent-spanning network of caverns. Gera’s courage and Vn’ab’s resilience are tested, both by the forgotten horrors of the caverns and by the specter of their past misdeeds. There, Ayyad discovers an ancient artifact granting him cryptic visions of a terrible destiny. All three must decide what the power of this artifact will bring them: either the peace they desperately seek, or a path to a ruinous end.

Thank you for your consideration. I look forward to your response.

Best Regards,

[name]

FIRST 300:

A thin sickly ray of light framed Gera as he stood behind the black iron gateway, peering out at the arena. There a gigantic spider, the length of two men end-to-end, devoured the swiftly-liquefying remains of a fighting-man. The spider, nicknamed “Old Hairfinger,” had been concealed in a pit beneath the sands, and its sudden emergence was startling to some, comical to most. A minor diversion at the start of the day’s bouts.

A minute ago, its meal had been “Urvam the Hawk-Snake,” mighty warrior of the canyonlands and would-be revolutionary. A “hero,” some called him.

Such was the fate of all heroes: to be consumed. As if they were never born.

Gera watched, somewhat disinterested. He heard, or felt, rather, the chants of the assembled crowd above, vibrations pulsing through the stone walls. The sun-dwellers from the surface had come down to the Pit, paying their entrance fee with bits of metal or shapestone. There, in the huge alcoves above, they came to see the strongest and most cunning of the undercity satisfy their bloodlust. To fight and, frequently, to perish.

None were there to see Gera, of course. They wouldn’t be. He was only a purpletongue, as imprisoned as the rest of the undercity. He was born a prisoner, and, he expected, would die as one.

He listened to their jeers, delivered in a dozen tongues, all known to him. His knack for languages served him well. Little else did: he was a most unsightly thing, with his misshapen hunched back, his flat nose, his bulbous eyes, his wet, jagged voice, and of course his tongue, deep purple and ever-wriggling.